


Personified

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Anthropomorphic, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Puppy Play, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-16
Updated: 2015-03-16
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:07:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3557174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of a bizarre spell that’s given Pippin and Frodo canine characteristics, Merry and Sam wait with them in Rivendell for a cure to come along.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personified

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I don’t know why I had to write this, but I did. Special thanks to abbeyjewel for betaing.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

At first, Sam thinks it’s the sun that woke him, shimmering in through the tall pillars of Rivendell. He blinks against it, groaning, and he’s shaken again, Merry’s voicing hissing, “ _Sam._ ”

Sam slaps the hand that’s shaking him, grunting and trying to curl back up to sleep, but Merry slaps his side, and clearly that isn’t happening. So he groans and gives in, pushing up in bed. Lord Elrond’s mattresses are softer than anything Sam’s ever felt in the Shire, and sometimes he thinks he could just melt into them and sleep away the whole day.

But if he wants to do that, he’ll have to make sure he doesn’t wind up coming with Merry and Pippin, who both have too much energy for their own good. Sam rubs at his eyes after he stretches his arm, ready to tell Merry off, but then he sees why Merry’s being so quiet.

Frodo’s lying in the corner of Sam’s bed, curled up and sleeping soundly, his soft features blissfully peaceful. The fluffy brown dog ears are a new acquisition, and they’re flattened down in Frodo’s curly hair, his bushy tail draped up and over one leg. It reminds Sam _why_ they’re in Rivendell—surely the elves are better equipped to handle strange enchantments than hobbits—and he knows why he can’t sleep away the day.

Frodo and Pippin, the two unfortunate parties to be around the strange artifact when it erupted in this spell, have been given their own rooms. But clearly Frodo’s snuck out again, sticking close to Sam as he often does, and Sam can’t help but sigh and feel a certain warmth in his chest. Frodo’s always been beautiful, but there’s something about seeing him like this, curled up with fluffy ears and a tail at Sam’s feet, that’s just _ridiculously cute_.

“I had a chat with Elrond this morning,” Merry says, interrupting Sam’s admiration. His voice is kept low, so as not to wake Frodo, whose tail flicks once, perhaps over Merry’s voice or something in a dream. “He says he’s had word of Gandalf, who should reach us in a few days. If he can’t find a way to break this crazy spell, I don’t know who can.” Pausing to add a dramatic eye roll, Merry mutters, “From now on, I’m not letting Pippin go _anywhere_ near any traders from Bree and their awful artifacts.” Sam nods, because, frankly, he thinks it’s a precaution Merry should’ve had in the first place. Pippin has a way of finding trouble.

Frodo, on the other hand, is an angel, and he looks as much, right now. While Merry talks, Sam finds his hand straying to Frodo’s chestnut hair. He absently pets Frodo’s head half listening to Merry and half watching Frodo smile in his sleep, his tail flicking again. When Merry finishes, Sam asks, “How’s Pippin handling the change?”

“He’s driving me crazy,” Merry grumbles. “He keeps licking my face and begging me for walks; I think I’ll actually have to get a collar and a leash to keep him in check. But at least I’ve figured out how to occupy him.”

Sam’s just about to ask how when the door practically bursts open. Pippin comes rushing through, his curly honey tail flying out behind him and his ears already perked. He launches himself at the bed, knocking Merry back into the mattress and chirping, “So this is where you got off to; I missed you!”

Merry tries to push Pippin off, but Pippin just isn’t having it. The commotion wakes Frodo up, who now has Merry’s head on his knees, and he squirms out right away. Lifting to all fours, he yawns, little blunt fangs showing through on either side of his mouth, more cute than menacing. His pink tongue traces out of his mouth as he sleepily crawls towards Sam, coming to sit at Sam’s side, half behind him. Frodo rubs at his eyes with one hand, fingers curled in like a paw, and then he watches merry and Pippin play fight, until Merry finally pushes Pippin off, who flitters at the edge of the bed, tail wagging like crazy. He asks quickly, “What were you talking about with me? Did you find a cure yet? Because I’ve been thinking, it’s really not so bad—”

Something small and round goes whizzing past Pippin’s head, and it takes Sam a second to realize that Merry’s thrown a ball. Pippin jerks around, watching the little toy bounce through the open door and roll off out of sight. A split second later, Pippin goes chasing after it, leaving Merry to wrinkle his nose and wipe his face off on his sleeve.

When he’s finished, he turns to Frodo and asks, “How’re you feeling, Mr. Frodo?”

Frodo mumbles, “Fine.”

Frowning, Merry says, “You don’t look fine,” which makes Sam’s head whip around to examine Frodo, because really, if anything’s wrong with Frodo, Sam should be the first to know about it. “You’re always wilted compared to Pippin.” He reaches over to tug Frodo’s tail, like emphasizing the point that it’s laying flat along the bed. It snakes right out of his hand, and Merry goes on, “But try not to worry too much. Gandalf’s coming back soon, and surely he can fix it.”

Frodo nods and sighs, “I’m sorry to burden you.”

“Not at all,” Sam jumps in, while Merry shakes his head.

“It’s not your fault anyway—Pippin started it all. And you’re much easier.” Then Merry launches into a long tirade of just _why_ Pippin is so much harder to deal with, despite the fact that Merry always follows him anyway and could just as easily go back to the Shire. They all know he won’t. While Frodo listens intently to Merry’s veiled fondness, Sam glances sideways at him. Frodo’s ears _do_ look a bit down, his tail rather limp for someone so young and pretty. After only a few seconds of looking, Sam can’t resist lifting his hand to scratch lightly under Frodo’s chin. It’s one of the many things Sam would’ve never had the courage to do before they first left the Shire, but now he’s used to sleeping in caves cuddled up to Frodo’s side and physically carrying Frodo over his shoulders, and it doesn’t seem such a stretch to draw his fingertips lightly above Frodo’s throat. Frodo’s ears hitch immediately, and his eyelids lower, his pink lips falling open. He makes a needy, happy noise, and his tail twitches. Merry doesn’t notice—he’s facing the door, as though waiting for Pippin to come racing back in at any moment.

Once Sam’s hands are on Frodo, he can’t _stop_. He tries to make the touches innocent, the way he would stroke a pet, except that thinking of Frodo as his _pet_ only makes it worse. His fingers make their way idly up Frodo’s jaw, and he finds himself scratching behind Frodo’s ear, which makes Frodo’s tail wag back and forth and his cheeks flush a pretty pink, his eyes slightly dilating in their hazy interest. He lets out a languid mewl, and then he turns, his tongue darting out of his mouth, and he licks up the corner of Sam’s jaw.

Sam instantly freezes, and Frodo pulls back, looking horribly embarrassed. But their faces are still incredibly close, and Frodo still looks flushed and particularly beautiful, and Sam thinks _this is it_ ; he’s not going to be able to hold himself back any longer; he’s finally going to give in the urge to _kiss_ Frodo—

Except Frodo’s knocked out of his sight, Pippin having tackled him down. Frodo squirms beneath him, whimpering quietly while Pippin practically humps him, play-wrestling.

“Alright, you,” Merry interrupts, dropping the retrieved ball into the mattress so he can wrap his arms around Pippin’s waist and try to pull him off. “C’mon, it’s time for a walk, before you scar Mr. Frodo any more than you already have.”

At this, Pippin sits bolt upright, looking excitedly back at Merry. He’s grabbed Merry’s hand a heartbeat later, and he tugs Merry right off the bed, pulling him towards the door. Merry turns back as though he’s going to say something, but he’s tugged around the corner too fast.

It leaves Frodo to straighten up, looking thoroughly mussed and red. It takes him a second to settle. The room seems strangely silent with just the two of them again, although it’s a state of being that Sam’s fully comfortable with.

Finally, Frodo mumbles sheepishly, “I’m sorry for coming into your room again. ...And for keeping you here with this stupid spell.”

Sam replies completely genuinely, “I never mind going on adventures with you, Mr. Frodo, and you’re welcome in my bed anytime.” Frodo smiles, warm and radiant.

He teases, “You always know how to make my tail wag, Sam.”

Sam laughs. He reaches out to pet Frodo’s hair again, and Frodo croons and leans into it, before lifting his arms and wrapping Sam in a tight hug.

Sam holds him back, not sure he’ll ever be ready to let go.


End file.
